


My Brother’s Friend is My Enemy

by Abiogenist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abiogenist/pseuds/Abiogenist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dean is grounded, he finds meditative peace mapping out the stain constellations on his dirty laundry. Then his little brother Sammy (who does not like to be called like that), brings home his new friend from school, Castiel Novak, the nerdy dude who Dean only remembers as that guy who had a big fart in the cafeteria. Sparks fly from there, where Castiel wants to slap Dean with science books silly, and Dean just wants to toss outside that godawful overcoat wrapping the nerd. </p><p>But Dean finds out Castiel gazes at Sammy like how a hobo salivates for the last pizza slice. That is perfect for Dean because Castiel’s sister is smoking hot. What’s a blackmail or two so he can hook up with the sister, right? Except Dean does not realize Castiel’s nerdy status does not give him justice because Castiel can deliver a mean fist to Dean’s gut. </p><p>And that is the start of the beautiful relationship of Dean and Castiel: how they become from enemies to allies to friends to bestfriends and to “bestfriends.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Brother’s Friend is My Enemy

Being grounded sucked, especially for a guy like Dean Winchester. 

He paced in the house, which wasn’t really small, to be honest. It had a decent-sized living room, kitchen, and three bedrooms. And, oh yeah, an okay bathroom that had seen so many shameful goodies of Dean that his blackmailers would throw a party. Good thing toilets and bathtubs couldn’t talk then. But at this moment, this house felt really, really small. He dragged himself to his room and his body dropped to his bed like a boulder.

Being grounded sucked, but it wasn’t Dean’s fault he got grounded. It wasn’t his fault that Alistair from that untalented baseball team was a total douchebag and put stink bombs in Dean’s locker for shit and giggles with his friends. It wasn’t Dean’s fault also that creeper deserved a marvelous, artistic calligraphy on his beloved, expensive car that portrayed Alastair’s profound attraction for the finer things in life, such as 'I love horse dick up my ass.'

Of course, since the douchebag was a Spartan and could not appreciate art, he rushed to a laughing Dean Winchester in the parking lot and hurled a fist to Dean’s jaw. That hurt like a bitch, so Dean returned the favor with a tried and tested smacking on the guy’s face. He liked the sound of Alastair’s Jack Torrance face scratching on the pavement. Dean was the hero of the afternoon and got a standing ovation from the students, but the teachers had to disrupt the show. They dragged Dean and Alastair’s asses to the Principal’s Office. Principal Roman, another dick, slapped Dean with suspension for three days and Dean had to pay for the 'damages' on Alastair’s car. Dean wanted to bash in that smug smile on Alastair’s face.

The torment did not end there. When the news spread to his dad and mom, they screamed their lungs off at Dean, demanding why their eldest son did another stupid thing in his life. To which Dean poetically answered “because a bad dick needs to be sawed off.” His parents just glared at Dean and they rewarded him with grounding for two weeks. With no TV. No Internet. No phone calls or texts. And bonus house chores to go with it. Dean could sort of survive that apocalypse.

“And I won’t be paying for that car, Dean,” his father added. “Start saving money now.”

“Fine.” Obviously, Dean hated the idea. But it was worth it anyway seeing Alistair’s broken face puffier than the Michellin mascot.

But then his mom noticed Dean’s blasé face and stabbed Dean with “and no pie for a week!”

“What?! No way!” Dean would rather die!

“No pie.” And that was final.

To make it worse, he wasn’t even allowed to work in Bobby’s Garage during the week. Bobby protested but John Winchester was a sneaky bastard. He pulled the 'we’re bestfriends' card but Bobby did not take the bait. But once his dad mentioned 'childhood memories,' Bobby’s face twisted and he spat “balls.” Bobby looked at Dean squarely and said: “Your ass is not touching anything here for two weeks.” And that was final also. How the hell was Dean going to get money if he had no job? 

So here was now Dean, rotting in his house.

Well, if he was to rot in this house, at least he’d rot with a full stomach. He got out from his room, went to the kitchen, aiming for the fridge and searching for something edible. Fruits and salad grass? Only Sammy or goats ate this crap. There was a frozen, lonely burrito and that would have to do. At least it wasn’t an evil, disgusting cake.

“Hey, Dean, I’m home,” Sam’s voice sounding in the house as Dean heard the creak of the opening door. “You’re not doing something stupid, are you?”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean mumbled as he was chewing on the tasteless burrito. “Mom and Dad are out,” Dean materialized in the living room and saw his younger brother was not alone. Beside him was a kid, really shorter than Sam (but then again Sam was a freak of nature) and probably the same age of Sam. His hair was messed up like a flock of seagulls swooped down on his head, and he wore a tan trenchcoat that was probably bought at the bargain bin at Walmart. The guy’s eyes were blue but it was covered by glasses so thick it was sending sonar messages of '100% white boy nerd.' 

“Dean, this is Castiel.”

“Cas-what?”

“Castiel? You know, the new friend I met in school I talked to you about?”

“Oh,” Dean said, more interested with his burrito, which wasn’t interesting at all. 

“You must be Dean. It is a pleasure to meet you,” the guy greeted, smiling. Dean was actually surprised the guy had a rougher voice. He had thought the guy’s voice would be squeaky. Castiel extended his hand to Dean.

“One and only,” Dean stared at the offered hand, then at Castiel. “Wait, you look familiar…”

“Huh?”

“Oh, wait. You’re the dude who farted at the cafeteria?” Dean said chuckling.

“What…?” Castiel said, confused. His eyebrow shot up from the rims of his glasses.

“You know, you sat on Gordon’s whoopie cushion and Miss Cooks nearly went ape-shit? Man that was funny,” Dean laughed, unable to control it. Sam’s lips twisted into a knot, annoyed with his brother’s childishness. Dean shook the guy’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, dude.”

Castiel glared at Dean. His lips pursed into a deadly thin line and Dean could have sworn he saw fireworks crackling on his glass lenses. Dean was more surprised when he felt the guy’s smooth hand closing on his grip so tight that Dean could feel his fingers throbbing and going numb. Dean had to release his hand before he decided it had to be amputated to be free.

“Nice to meet you too,” Castiel said, a hint of acid laced on his voice.

Well, that first meeting went peachy.

“Okay, all right,“ Sam coughed. “Castiel and I will be studying for our Chemistry class. We’ll be taking the living room for a few days. Will you mind, Dean?”

“Nah, have fun. Do what you nerds do best. Will be in my room doing private stuff.”

“Ew, TMI,” Sam grimaced. Castiel’s expression was not far off from his. “Castiel,” Sam said. In a split of a second, Castiel’s expression of disgust turned softer as he looked at Sam. “You can put your stuff on the couch. Stay here for a bit. I’ll get us some drinks. “ 

Castiel nodded and walked to the couch.

Sam tugged Dean to the kitchen. “What the hell, dude?” Dean protested.

“He just got here for like a second and you two are already bonding like buddies,” Sam crossed his arms.

“I make BFFs really quick,” Dean chewed another piece of burrito.

“Dude, just… lay off, Castiel. Okay?”

“Whatever.”

Sam went to the fridge to get some juice. Dean sneaked to the stairs but not before catching a glimpse of the dark-haired Castiel glaring at him. If the guy could shoot arrows with his eyes he’d already shot a hundred. _Oh well, fuck you too._ Dean flipped Castiel an exotic, magical bird hiding in Dean’s middle finger before going up the stairs. Murder was on Castiel’s eyes and Dean smugly smiled.

The second day of Dean’s unholy suspension and grounding was torture. No school. No work. No play. He wondered how visionaries like Einstein would survive such torment. While his parents would have to go to work and Sam had to go to school, he was trapped in the house. He didn’t want to wake up from bed, but alas, if he did not do the household chores then his grounded status would be extended for another week.

The most exciting thing he could do was count how many dishes he could wash in a minute after every meal or map out the constellations of stains on his soiled underwear. Dean was already experiencing stir craziness about his room too. He really loved his room, especially the refreshing sight of posters of nice wheels splayed on his bedroom walls, or that seductive picture of sexy Hannah Simone lying on a motorcycle, but if he stayed another hour playing hacky sack in his room then he’d eventually lose it and crack his head on his desk. So he would sometimes skulk to the kitchen, raiding for more food in the fridge, violating anything unless it was cake. He was still dying inside he could have no pie but Dean was already promising to himself he’d buy a dozen of apple pies after this excruciating weeks.

On the last day of his suspension, he was already getting so schizophrenic with his Amish, no-technology life that Dean had to have some semblance of electronics smacked into him otherwise he’d do things he’d regret. Like figure out the meaning of life in his Math textbooks. The horror. 

So that afternoon after school time, he sneaked downstairs, disturbing the shrine of nerdiness his brother and his nerd friend built in the living room. They stacked books so high that it was like impenetrable fort wall. Dean crashed into the book wall and the two dorks jumped in surprise. Sam frowned disapprovingly but Castiel just plainly wanted to shove his thick books into Dean’s throat.

“What the hell, dude?” Sam complained.

“Gotta have to watch TV, bitch,” Dean said, inserting his arm into the infinite universe beneath the couch, looking for the remote.

“You’re supposed not to touch anything with electricity, jerk.”

“If you tattle tell, I’ll tell your friend over here about Sarah Blake and the accident.”

“You wouldn’t!” Sam said in disbelief, though Castiel tilted his head at Sam with obvious curiosity.

“You dare challenge me?” Dean pointed the remote at Sam on knifepoint. 

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The brothers had a wrestling through eye contact until Sam threw his arms in the air like a white flag.

“Sorry, boys. All is fair in _Carrie_ reruns,” Dean pressed the shiny button.

The doorbell sounded. “It’s probably the pizza we ordered. I’ll get it,” Sam went to the door.

While Dean was too engrossed on the TV where Carrie went batshit insane and celebrated prom night by setting the gym on fire, Castiel looked at Dean and shook his head disapprovingly.

“What?”

“You really don’t have any scruples at all, don’t you?”

“Talk in normal people mode?”

“I mean, you don’t really have any shred of morals in you.”

“Not true. I don’t make girls pay on dates and I don’t have sex with them on our first night.”

“I suppose these women appreciate that fact?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I get a lot more ladies than you.” 

“And that makes you really proud.”

“Proud. And adorable,” Dean winked. Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Here’s the pizza,” Sam returned to the living room and placed the box on the coffee table. 

Dean quickly swiped a slice. “First born privileges.”

Sam gave another sigh before returning to their Chemistry homework with Castiel. They were flipping book pages with inhuman speed and speaking in languages so foreign that it would make any middle school bully breakdown and cry.

Dean would sometimes glance at the two nerds and Dean would notice something. Sam would talk nerd stuff while jotting notes or looking at his books, but Dean could see Castiel staring at Sam with a soft and wistful expression when Sam was unaware. His blue eyes would crinkle gently and he would have a subtle smile tugged on one side. Dean raised his eyebrows. He was no expert in love (and love was such a sticky, messy term) but he knew that stupid, dreamy look. After all, he’d seen a fair share of that look sent at him by his female admirers.

A cellphone rang. “It’s mine. It’s from Haley of the Debate Club. Wait,” Sam went to the kitchen. Dean noticed Castiel’s eyes followed Sam until he disappeared before Castiel turned to his books.

“Book’s really interesting, huh?” Dean said, munching on his pizza.

“Just shut up and enjoy your pizza and corny horror flick, Dean,” Castiel said without looking at Dean.

“Just saying at least the book returns your interest.”

Castiel finally turned to Dean, confusion raising his eyebrow.

“Oh, like it wasn’t obvious.”

“What do you mean?” 

“How many sappy poems have you written gazing at Sammy?” 

Castiel’s eye turned into giant saucers, followed by an awkward moment of silence. “H-huh?”

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He saw a blush slowly creeping on Castiel’s cheeks. Dean wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger but Castiel was redder than the pepperoni on his pizza.

“Okay, false alarm. The team just ate bad sandwiches,” Sam returned. He looked at Castiel’s face imitating _The Scream_ then suspiciously at his brother. “What happened?”

Castiel was too stunned to talk so Dean answered, “We just had an enlightening talk about American politics.”

Castiel quickly stood up. “Uh, Sam, I have to leave. I have a family emergency,” Castiel was already stuffing his things back into his bag.

“But we haven’t finished the homework yet.”

“Let’s have a raincheck. I’m sorry,” Castiel said, slinging the bag on his back and his one arm carrying at least ten books.

“Oh, okay. I’ll go with you outside.”

“No, it’s all right. I can manage. Thank you for the hospitality.” Castiel’s idea of subtlety was scampering to the door.

Sam glared at Dean, suspicion shaping his eyes into sharp blades.

“What? I just watched TV.”

Sam sighed, retrieved his books and went upstairs.

So his younger brother’s friend had a crush on him. A gay crush. Dean had a feeling he could use that for his advantage the next time he sees dear lovestruck Castiel. But for now, this pizza and horror flick would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed and work in progress. :)


	2. Don’t Piss Off the Nerd Angel

“So Dean Winchester has finally risen from the dead,” the burly Benny squeezed Dean with an anaconda hold that all the oxygen escaped Dean’s lungs. Dean was helplessly levitating also, judging by his shoes complaining they missed the cafeteria floor.

“Uh…kay, Ben…ny… I missed your musk too…” Dean gasped, prompting Benny to let go. Benny guffawed then clipped Dean’s shoulder while the rest of the football team surrounded Dean then patted his back as if this reunion was a freaking soirée party. 

“How was life as a suspension convict?” Benny asked with a toothy grin, his white teeth a contrast to his overgrown dark scruff.

“Swell, like my back,” Dean answered as he sat. He rubbed the part of his body that was thrumming like an overbeaten drum.

“Dude, you totally served that Alastair douchebag some knuckle sandwich real good,” one of the football players said. 

“I’m a White Mike Tyson that can cook, dude. Alastair was too stupid to know before he egged my locker.”

“So what is our boxer going to do now?” Benny asked.

“I’m gonna’ retire; have long walks on the beach with frisky women. You know, Paradise,” Dean replied. 

Beside Benny a girl was chuckling as she gave a quick glance at Dean while twirling her fork around her cafeteria spaghetti which would probably taste like one mean motherfucker (but Dean would eat it anyway, since his stomach was a vacuum cleaner). He noted her shoulder-length wavy hair was redder than the tomato sauce and she had a million-buck smile that shone brightly on her heart-shaped face. She was a total looker and no doubt the security at the airport would allow her to go inside without frisking her. Dean was oh-so-not staring until Benny snapped Dean back to the cruel world with a cough.

“Romeo, you still here? I forgot to introduce to you Anna. She’s a new student,” Benny said.

“For a second there I thought you were Benny’s long lost redhead cousin. Hi Anna,” Dean put on his winning Winchester smile contagiously passed onto every men of the Winchester bloodline. He extended his hand to her.

“Benny’s a nice guy but if I was her cousin I’d have to dye my hair. I like my hair. Nice to meet you too Dean,” she smiled and accepted his hand. It was a strong grip that Dean somehow faintly recognized... 

“So, do you come here often?” Dean wagged his eyebrows.

She laughed. It sounded like heavenly bells. “Will have to from now on. We just moved here a month ago, but it’s only been two weeks since I’ve gone to school.”

“Where were you originally from, Anna?” Benny asked as he bit his apple.

“California. My Dad got a different job so we transferred to Kansas.”

Dean gave that a thought. From human-sprawling California to sleepy Kansas? There was something missing in that equation but Dean didn’t want to pry. He just met the girl, for chrissakes. He didn’t want Anna to think he was Edward Cullen.

“What do you think of Kansas so far?” Benny was already moving on to his lasagna. 

“Peaceful. I love the view. And I wonder why the men here are so good-looking.”

“We feed our men with Kansas corn. Our cows are Greek gods too,” Dean answered. She laughed, and again, heavenly bells.

She turned her attention to a table that was in the center of the room. Dean immediately recognized that creepy face covered in band aids and stuffed with puffy cottonballs. 

“That’s Alastair, huh?” she asked.

“Yep. What do you think of my work? Museum-worthy, right?”

“Hmnn. Needs more refinement on the edges. I think my brothers can do better though.”

“You have brothers?” Benny butted in again. Dean liked Benny like an honorary Winchester brother, but god, he needed to stop being one adorable cockblock. He and Anna were just having a staring moment.

“Yes, three. Two of them are in this school,” she answered then looked at a table that was in the far corner of the room. It was the ‘losers’ archipelago’ section where the nerds, bandgeeks, hipsters and other members of the bottom hierarchy of the Lawrence High status quo ate their lunch in sanctuary. She waved at one particular person that Dean squinted his eyes just to make sure he was seeing the correct person. That familiar nerd with messy dark hair curtly waved back.

“So I’m hoping you’re not in a secret relationship with Castiel?” Dean said.

“What? No,” Anna’s nose scrunched. “He’s my brother. How’d you know about Castiel, Dean?”

“That frost giant over there,” Dean pointed at that another familiar figure sitting with Castiel. With that Godzilla height and goofy hair, it was impossible not to spot him. “That’s Sammy. He’s my brother.”

“Ah. That is Sam, right? He’s very… tall.”

“Comes in handy when we can’t reach something in the cupboards.”

Anna’s exasperation finally dissipated, to Dean’s relief. “Castiel talks a lot about Sam. They must have become good friends.”

“Yeah, your brother totally adores my brother,” Dean huffed, thinking about yesterday where Cas exited the house like a frightened chipmunk. Anna looked at Dean with raised eyebrows, not understanding Dean’s expression.

The bell suddenly rang and the students started pouring out from the cafeteria. Dean squashed his coke can then threw it into a nearby thrash bin. Three points.

“So I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of you from now on, Anna?” Dean asked.

Anna nodded. “And I hope it’s all right if I sit with you during lunch? If you don’t mind?” She briefly looked at the floor with a shy smile. Dean noticed and that was cute as hell.

“No problem with it,” Benny answered.

“Awesome,” she started walking away but not before giving a wave. “See you around.”

“You too,” Dean waved back. He was staring at her finely-formed backside when Benny elbowed him. “Hey!”

Benny’s eyebrows danced to a disco tune.

“Shut it and stop being a cockblock, dude,” Dean smirked.

They got back to their boring classes with the teachers looking at Dean with a wrinkled expression that said he was the prodigal son that just came back because he wanted to extort money to buy crack. Especially Miss Cooks, who, again, gone Amazonian ape-shit when he wisecracked her class was a sleeping pill overdose. Good thing Benny was there to shield Dean from the possible detention and truckload of homework. Dean didn’t know how Benny could flirt with older, lonely women, but he could, mostly through praises and with no mention of overbreeding cats. Good ole’ Benny.

When the house of horrors ended, Dean excitedly skipped to the locker room and exchanged his clothes for his football gear. Once he was on the field, he heaved the smell of Kansas air while Benny powerbombed a football to Dean’s face, which, to Dean’s luck, he had caught. They played pass for minutes, until Dean could feel sweat staining his clothes.

With a deep breath, Dean swung his trusty right arm in a wide arc, hurling the football. It spiraled into the air like a missile until it descended and crashed into Benny who was standing a distance away. Sprinting to Dean, Benny raised his arm holding the football like it was a trophy. That was a perfect pass. Dean huffed with satisfaction as he wiped the sweat trickling from his chin. 

It was only three days, but god he missed everything that had a football slapped on it. The hardness of the leather ball, the dryness of his throat that can only be quenched with water, the familiar wetness of sweat seeping into his underwear, and the prickling hotness of afternoon heat that should be enough to fry greasy bacon on a car’s hood.

“Welcome back to the real world,” Benny now standing a few meters, passed the ball to Dean. Dean instinctually received the ball.

“Thanks, Ben. I needed this. Doing _Home Alone_ for three days was just lame,” Dean gulped down a bottle of water in one swoop. “Though using Alastair’s creepy face as my personal punching bag was worth it.”

Placing his hands to his hips, Benny nodded in approval. Obviously Benny hated those baseball twats just as much how Dean wanted to commit mass genocide to that team by shooting spitwads at them. But then again, no sane student in Lawrence High would give the team an A+ considering all of the members were either assholes or douchebags. What was the difference? The former was more deserving being kicked a thousand times in the babymaker while the latter deserved more brutal ways, like being tied to the flagpole while the kids salute at them. Alastair belonged to both categories.

“I’d do the same, brother,” Benny remarked. “Those baseball losers think they’re magic just because they won championship last year.”

Dean so wanted to disagree, except no matter how much he could complain, the fact was that their school’s baseball team had already won championship for three consecutive years. No matter how much mayonnaise Dean wanted to egg into Alastair’s rapey face, the creep was a damn good baseball player. That, or they had kidnapped a Fairy Godmother from Faraway Land for blessing. If that was the case then the Lawrence High Wolves had to steal the fairy because they barely won anything in ten years. Though with Benny and Coach Mosely now admirals of the ship, they had have gotten good ratings and rose to higher ranks, but still not enough for placing anything major, let alone the championship title.

From the corner, Dean heard the familiar crunches on the dirt that could only belong to Coach Moseley. A black hair tie was banded on her black curly hair, and her lilac shirt and white pants were a stark contrast to her dark complexion. Although Coach Moseley’s clothes failed to cover the roundness of her figure, she walked with practiced steadiness that obviously spoke of her past as an athlete.

“All right you rowdy boys!” Coach Moseley commanded. There was a lot of authority in her voice that could even break Sarah Palin to support same-sex marriage. “Line up!”

The team quickly stopped what they were doing and gathered around the coach. She eyed each one of them, like how a mother hen would count could her chick and hopefully a stray wolf did not snatch one away. When she was satisfied, she nodded with a smile. 

“Now, we’re going to talk about something you boys will detest. Grades.”

With that simple mention of the dreaded word that should-not-be-said, the team dramatically groaned in unison.

“Now, now, I know you boys are athletes and football is important, but grades are important too. I can’t let you play without a brain. Especially since Principal Roman is intent to shape up student academic performance.”

“But, Ma’am,” one of the players whined. The team called Coach Moseley with the title upon her insistence otherwise they’d receive a smack to the head. Secretly, the team actually appreciated it because it made Coach Moseley like a second mother, though locked in an evil institution ran by many cultish teachers worshipping a money-grubbing principal. “How come Alastair and his A-holes have awful grades but they’re allowed to play!”

“Devin, language!” Coach Moseley scolded. “I’ve talked to their coach and none of the baseball players have failed anything,” she sighed. 

Dean could read there was something more in there. He wouldn’t be surprised if the teachers would raise the grades of the son-of-a-bitch Alastair and his Powerpuff Girls just so their ‘best school sport’ could play. That was just fun-fucking-tastic and unfair.

“So I hope you boys also shape up.” She looked up at the sky for a moment then to the team. “Alastair… is he the boy that was locked in the janitor’s closet overnight during the fourth grade because he hid himself there? I remember that boy smelling like pee when we found him,” she winked, though it was totally obvious she knew the douchebag/asshole. All of the players burst into loud, endless laughter, especially Dean who wanted to barellroll to the ground because his stomach was cramping and that shit was just fucking hilarious. 

“All right, calm down. And don’t mention this outside the team or you are dead,” she cleared her throat though there was still a trace of smirk on her lips. “Benny,” she called and he quickly perked up. “Please lead the team while I’m gone for a teachers’ meeting.”

Benny nodded.

“Bye, boys. Have fun and remember: grades,” she said but then she glanced at Dean. “Can I talk with you for a minute?”

Dean gulped. He didn’t do anything wrong did he? So he didn’t flush the toilet at the men’s room earlier but that was because it was broken. America was a free country, dammit; he was free not to flush a toilet anytime and anywhere he pleased! “Yes, Ma’am?”

They walked a bit away so that the team could not hear. When Dean looked at Coach Moseley’s face, her steely eyes that she would usually reserve for giving team directions or in during classroom instructions turned something warm and full of concern. It was like how Dean’s mother would look at him when there was something wrong that had happened. Dean felt himself relax.

“Dean, did Alastair hurt you?” she asked.

She was talking about how Dean made Alistair eat pavement a few days ago. ”Nah, just a few scrapes. Alastair’s face though would be a nice circus attraction.”

Coach Moseley chuckled. “The boy does deserve it. But, Dean, please no more boxing with students in the parking lot? I’m just worried about you. All of you. All right? Or else I’m going to whack you with a spoon.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Dean obediently agreed.

“Good. I’ve also heard from Principal Roman you’ll have to pay for the paintjob on Alastair’s car? My nephew is starting a gardening business. I’ll see if he can hire you part-time if you want that?”

“Yeah, totally,” Dean was really touched. There was warmth burning in his heart. He was right; Coach Moseley was another mother, not just a football coach. NFL teams would prefer a hardline male coach who would smack his players with a metal bucket if his orders were not followed, but Coach Moseley’s approach was wholly different. And Dean really liked it. “Thank you very much, Ma’am,” he said, earnestly grateful.

She nodded then destroyed Dean’s styled dark blond hair with her hand (not that it was already botched by the sweat and afternoon heat). She gave another goodbye with a wave before she walked away.

When Dean rejoined the group, Benny was already starting talking about routines. Near the benches, Dean could spot a familiar walking figure. He walked stiffly, a toy soldier running out of batteries. He was also wearing that eyesore and ridiculous tan trenchcoat that was as subtle as a broken tractor in a haystack. Did the owner even wash that thing?

“Dean?” Benny said, looking at him.

“Give me a minute,” Dean excused himself as he rushed away from the group. “Hey, you!” Dean hollered as he ran but Castiel pretended he didn’t hear and just kept walking with other people. Probably the other nerds he sat with during lunch but minus Sammy. ”Hey, Castiel!” Dean rushed through the field to Castiel. 

Castiel hastened his pace but Dean looped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, stopping Castiel on his tracks. It surprised Dean that Castiel’s shoulders were firmer than what he had expected. The guy was thin and Dean thought he would only feel bones, but there seemed to be taut flesh beneath that ugly-ass trenchcoat. 

“Hey, Cas!” Dean grinned.

“My name is _Castiel_.” 

“Whatever you say, _Cas_.”

“You smell like putrid durian and gym socks. Get off me.”

What the hell was a durian? “Oh, come on, Cas, is that the way how you treat your future brother-in-law?” Dean felt Castiel stiffen.

“Uh, C-Castiel, is he bothering you?” One of the nerds with Asian hippie hair and in a sweater that was probably knitted by his grandmother nervously croaked out. Dean glanced at him, took a step, then used his height to tower over him, covering the mousy nerd with Dean’s shadow. He looked at Dean like he was freaking Goliath and cowered behind the petit blonde girl stabbing Dean with a stink eye. But then again the nerd patrol was looking at Dean like he was an insect that needed to be quashed. 

“Not really, Kevin,” Castiel said, patience wearing thin in his voice. “Uh, Becky will assist you,” he looked at the petit blonde girl as she nodded her head. “I’ll join you in the club room in a moment.” The group except Castiel cautiously walked away. 

“What do you want?” Castiel scowled at Dean, his blue eyes cooler than ice. He scooted away from Dean’s grip.

“Can’t I say hi to my second favorite nerd?”

“I am averse of the idea of giving my allowance to you, so you can proceed being Neanderthals with your teammates,” Castiel scrunched his face in annoyance. 

“Hey, I’m not that bad. You look like you want to throw me into a ditch.”

Castiel was about five inches shorter than Dean when he scrutinized Dean from toe to head. “With your size, I will have to clonk your head with a bat first.”

Dean chuckled, but something in the glint of Castiel’s eyes showed no doubt he could actually do it. Mental note, never give Castiel a baseball bat.

“Oh come on, aren’t we friends?”

“We are not _friends_ ,” Castiel hissed, dunking more poison on the last word. 

“So we started like how Titanic crashed to an iceberg, but we can forget that right?”

Castiel tilted his head and stared at Dean, not understanding the crap Dean was saying. “What exactly do you want from me, Winchester?”

“You didn’t tell me you have a hot sister with a less weird name.”

“You mean Anna?” Castiel remembered her sister did sit with Dean and his cronies earlier lunch. “What of her?”

Dean was intent to wheedle out information about Anna, but clearly Castiel was all about straight-to-the-point business because he crossed his arms together with his fingers tapping on his elbow and his lips thin and straight. Dean wondered if this guy would be a Steve Jobs clone in ten years. 

“What does Anna like better, cake or pie?” If it was the latter, then she would be Dean’s match made in heaven.

Castiel still stared. “I do not understand. Why are you asking me about my sister's preference for pastry?”

“I want to ask your sister’s hand for dating,” Dean grinned but Castiel just raised an eyebrow. And then Castiel just sniggered, startling Dean.

“What?”

“My sister does not waste her time with knuckleheads like you.”

That hurt like a pointed stick was poked onto his chest but he chugged it down. “Maybe she’ll get a different opinion of me if a certain someone is my wingman, my partner-in-crime. What do you say?” Dean sent Castiel that trademark Winchester smile that could pacify girls, cougars, shady customers in Bobby’s Garage, and even cobras. But it had zero effect on Castiel since he just looked like he didn’t give a shit.

“If I recall from yesterday, you have horrible habits in dating. Why would I subject my sister to the same experience? So no.” He frowned. There was a tone in that voice that meant it was his final answer and nothing Dean could do to convince him otherwise.

But Dean, of course, was a stubborn, sneaky bastard, and he was not afraid mucking with dirt to get what he wanted.

“Fine, if you say so,” Dean played a pout on his lips, then he smacked his forehead with his palm dramatically. “Oh gee, I think Anna will be sitting in our table for the rest of the school year, and since we won’t be dating at all I might slip out a little secret to all the guys. Like a certain guy has a puppy love for my younger brother. Oops.” Dean shook his head.

Castiel’s eyes became so round and big that they might pop out and explode, until it dropped down into a deadly slits. No doubt jinxing Dean into the deepest fiery pits of Hell. “Dean Winchester,” his voice changed into something gruffer than it already was. “Are you attempting to blackma—“

“I wouldn’t call it blackmail, just persuasion without the cookies and more ulterior motives, yeah?” Dean played innocent.

Castiel clamped his mouth shut and Dean noticed by the way Castiel was glaring at him, the guy wished he was shooting blue lasers to burn Dean’s green eyes. 

There was heavy silence until Castiel broke it, “This exchange is over.” He strode away quickly as he tugged his tan coat and books closer to his body.

“Wait, hold up!” Dean hollered. “If you change your mind, call me, maybe?” Dean’s grin was matched by Castiel’s grimace when he glanced back for a second.

Dean walked back to his team, as if he did not just try to do something like blackmail. It was easy too, similar to stealing roses on the lawn from their crabby neighbor Mrs. Kraft. It was for Dean’s date with… he forgot her name, but she was blonde, had a big rack and more flexible than an Olympian gymnast with a gold medal. Still, that conversation with Castiel left a bit of bitter taste to his mouth. He decided blackmail wasn't really something he liked to do. 

“Hey,” Benny called Dean to attention. “You have business with Anna’s brother?”

“Nah, I just went to him to say hi and I’d love to talk Mathematics with him.”

Benny raised his eyebrow. Dean just shrugged.

“Castiel. That new geek pisses me off for some reason,” Gordon, the new freshman recruit spat. He had a sneer on his rough dark-skinned face. “He wouldn’t share his Math homework with me. He needs to give this body of awesome some respect.”

Dean moaned. Was this guy serious or did the idiot have diarrhea and he’d to shit bullshit anytime soon?

“Don’t be a dick, rookie,” Benny said. “Homework is not a box of pizza you have to share. You do it yourself.”

“Nah, man, homework is like a woman. You fuck her brains out and share her to your bros,” Gordon grinned, and some of the team chuckled. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah? I dare you to fuck your homework then. We can get rich with your kink if we upload it on Youtube,” Dean said, earning a hard glare from Gordon. 

The guy was pissed but he wouldn’t dare lunged at Dean. Dean was a senior and the quarterback of the team. It wouldn’t be that hard to punt this idiot’s ass out from Kansas. 

So Gordon ignored Dean then said, “yeah, let’s just say imma going to do some payback to that geek.” He smiled creepily and then he cackled like a madman who skin puppies and kittens during weekends. 

Dean sent the creep a raised eyebrow and he might have to alarm the crazy house to put this guy in a straightjacket. While it was amusing teasing Castiel like how Dean tormented his little brother (especially by depriving Sammy of his salad grass), Dean would never hit the guy. Besides, Castiel was obviously one of those skinny pipsqueaks that would crumple to the floor with the gentlest tap to the head. That was obvious with the guy’s hobo fashion sense and thick glasses pulled out from Einstein’s chest of nerdiness (Did Einstein even wear glasses?). But the way Gordon talked about Castiel did not settle in Dean’s gut comfortably. But before he could think more about it Benny was already shouting to everyone to drop the subject and get back to their football practice.

Over the next days, Dean seamlessly integrated himself to the American education system. He was still grounded and was not allowed to touch anything electric, and it was shit that he still wasn’t allowed to work at Bobby’s Garage. Although Dean did not want to admit it but he missed school, not because of classes or homework (only nerds get boner for those), but because going to school meant he had friends and football. Also, Sam was grateful because Dean had a blackhole for a stomach and his older brother sulking around the home like a smelly skunk also meant their fridge was always empty, to Sam’s irritation.

Dean was also looking forward to talking with Anna during lunch. Each time they talked, the more she became prettier and more animated. She also mentioned she was single. And that prompted Dean to hasten asking Anna out for a date before anyone in the high school does. He wouldn’t be surprised someone would finally stop being dazed looking at her face and grow a pair of hairy balls to ask her out. Dean wanted to make sure he was the first who would do it—grow hairy balls—and grow it successfully.

The days went by normally, all consisting of classes, homework (ew), and football practice. Although one day while Dean was getting stuff from his locker (which still reeked of a hobo’s personal perfume because of stupid Alistair but most of it was cleaned by the janitor), Castiel appeared beside him out of thin air and Dean jumped back like a freaked out cat. And Dean didn’t even like cats!

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean grumbled. “Were you a Russian spy in your past life?”

Castiel just glared at Dean. But there was something dark and dangerous in that glare. It was so unlike the time Dean ‘persuaded’ Castiel to vouch for him for Anna. Without tearing his blue eyes of rage away from Dean, Castiel opened the locker that was just one locker away from Dean’s. Huh, Dean didn’t know they were locker neighbors. Before retrieving a set of thick books in his locker, Castiel thrust his hand to Dean’s face. He was holding something red and shaped like a deflated balloon.

“Is this my Birthday gift? You just missed it. Maybe for Christmas?” Dean joked, hoping to release some of the tension stinking the atmosphere. 

Castiel didn’t say anything, his jaw clamped tighter than a bear trap. Then without any warning, Castiel threw the item to Dean’s face and Dean fumbled when he caught it. What the fuck was this? Dean inspected the item and it was a whoopie cushion. He was just about to ask the weirdo why he threw this stuff to him but Castiel was already walking away. His back ramrod straight and he marched with such force that Dean thought he heard earthquake cracks forming beneath Castiel’s steps.

What was that about?

Dean looked at the whoopie cushion once more before dropping it to a thrashcan.

That little talk with Castiel bothered Dean the whole day, even spoiling his lunch. He left a burger only half eaten! If Sam knew that happened he would freak out and would think Dean was either having an aneurysm or possessed by a vegetarian demon. Even during football practice it still gnawed his skull. And it came at the time too when he ran for a touchdown and then poof, Castiel and that serial killer stare popped into his mind. He slowed down, and then some idiot just smacked into Dean, sending them both to the ground. Dean saw a drunken Tweety circling around his vision and he had to spit out the dirt that decided to test how kissable Dean’s lips were. Good thing he was wearing helmet and padding otherwise he would have been out cold into next week. Sam would later comment Dean looked fashionable with a big bump on his forehead.

“Well, someone should sack Tyra Banks ‘cause I’m hijacking her show,” Dean retorted.

It spoiled Dean’s quality time with his Busty Asian Beauties magazine too. He laid on his bed, porn magazine on one hand, and philosophical thoughts invaded his mind, like what the hell happened to Castiel? Was this because of Dean’s blackmail attempt at the football field? How could Dean explain to Castiel that he was only talking bullshit and he wouldn’t spill his little secret to other people? So their first meeting was a Hurricane Katrina, but how could Dean make Castiel realize that he wasn’t that much of an asshole? Also, why the hell was Castiel’s hair always in disarray like hairblowers are afraid of his head? And like Philosophy, there were no answers to his existential questions. This might have been what that philosopher came in conclusion also. What was his name? Sartre? Some dead White guy with a name that Dean could barely pronounce correctly, most likely.

The next day Dean saw Castiel, the guy was walking around the halls like a white ghost, that or Castiel thought bathing in flour was the best Casper impression in the world. Castiel was not wearing his signature tan trenchcoat. It was some loose sweater that Dean could not pinpoint what color anymore. Castiel walked forlornly while the other kids in the school chuckled at seeing Castiel. It did not make Dean laugh though, but there was a brick of uneasiness that sunk in Dean’s stomach. Dean stepped into Castiel’s path, and the guy stopped walking and looking at the interesting lifeforms on the floor tiles. He directed his stare at Dean, and when he realized it was Dean, it quickly turned into that glare. That glare again that felt like God’s wrath was turned into hatchet and was now hacking Dean’s limbs. What did Dean do to make this guy so pissed?

“Yo. Aren’t we too excited for Halloween?” Dean cracked again, because that was the only method he knew to diffuse awkward situations. But to Dean’s dismay, it just made everything worse. Dean could practically hear a toothless growling sound from Castiel’s throat. It was actually kind of scary. 

Dean expected Castiel to lash out at him, but instead he just continued marching, bumping into Dean’s shoulder with such force that Dean was thrown off balance to a side. That fucking hurt. But Dean was surprised that the impact was stronger than he anticipated. Either his suspension days (and constant manhandling with his penis to pass the time) sapped his strength, or Castiel was actually the X-man Collosus and decided the biggest nerd in Lawrence High was the best cover to his secret identity.

When he turned to his back, he caught Gordon laughing like this was the funniest shit ever before giving a brief glance at Dean and sneaking away.

Finally, it was that day after Castiel’s last glare that he finally got answers to the questions that plagued his mind.

Dean was walking in the halls when he spotted Castiel on his locker. He saw Castiel open it and then suddenly a cracking explosion popped and the smell of cow manure, rotting Mcdonalds burger, decades-old underwear, and an atomic fart wafted in the air that even Dean could smell it meters away. The other students in the hall had a hysterical fit while covering their noses. 

Fuckity fuck, someone was playing pranks on this defenseless kid. Dean felt indignation course through his veins. Walking to Castiel, Dean pinched his nose.

“Man, this has got to stop. The fucking idiot who did this needs to get bitch-slapped,” Dean said, glancing at the locker then to Castiel, but all Dean could see was Castiel’s head cocked down. 

There was something savage and menacing lurking in Castiel’s aura. It resonated with such force that Dean felt a chill dig into his flesh and he thought he hallucinated seeing dark angel wings manifesting on Castiel’s back. It was when Castiel raised his sight to Dean that he realized the dark force was Castiel.

“Cas…?” Dean whimpered.

Castiel took a forward step, stabbed Dean’eyes with his own pair of sharp blue blades then slammed a full on fist to Dean’s spleen that all the air in Dean’s lungs was exorcised out and he crumpled to the floor like a slab of meat. That motherfucking hurt like oblivion Hell! His vision and senses completely blacked out but not before he could hear Castiel muttering with stolid, frigid vehemence, “Cease your childish pranks on me,” and the sound of his footsteps becoming fainter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my holiday break is ending. That means I'm going back to my full-time work, classes, workout sessions, and occasional volunteering. But don't worry, I will reserve time to continue writing this fic. :)
> 
> Again, this work is unbeta-ed. If you find any faults, just smack my head into attention. :)


	3. Keep Your Friends Close but Your Nerd Closer

Dean had a specific taste for women. He liked them special, someone he would not ordinarily meet while pushing a cart at the grocery. He had nothing against fair skin, but he just had a taste for women who had spent a healthy time tanning on the beach. He liked them with dark hair, like soft, long tendrils framing the figure of her shoulders. He liked them with full lips that would shine with eternal gloss, and soulful, round eyes, that would become brighter with his stupid jokes. But of course, these women were more elusive than water nymphs, so Dean also liked women who had a certain spark with him, a connection that transcended his cookie cutter of an ideal date. Oh, and of course, the bigger the rack the better. 

That was why Dean stared at the wallclock as if it was her woman. He christened her as Ms. Hourglass. And in his mind, he had already asked her out on a date, and now they were sitting in a secluded restaurant with nice violin music, a smooth ambience, crystal goblets full of red, velvet sin, and food that delighted the buds of his tongue. And he was already inviting her for some nice drive to his house, because a nightly tête-à-tête had to be in session.

Yes, Dean had to live in that reverie, otherwise the robotic, snail-paced ticking of the clock’s longhand would drive him mad. Because in thirty minutes, Dean would be a free man, not anymore a criminal under the parental house arrest tailored for teenagers below of legal age. Thirty minutes, and he would be freer than the freed slaves of George Washington. Freedom was so near!

“Dean, why are you flirting with an inanimate object?” Sam said.

“Shut up, Samantha,” Dean said as he briefly glanced at his annoying little brother. Sammy’s forehead was wrinkled as he pored over his National Geographic magazine. Porn for nerds, Dean immediately thought.

“So those android girls want some hardcore metallic action, huh?” 

“Ew, shut up, jerk,” Sam huffed. “I’m reading about this new robot. So get this: these Tokyo scientists invented a robot shaped like the buttocks and can give emotional responses to tactile stimuli. It’s pretty awesome.”

“Dude, if I wanted to hear about an emotional ass, I’d just look at your face.”

“Jerk!”

“Bitch,” Dean looked back at the clock. Twenty-five minutes left.

Dean heard the familiar sound of rumbling car engine outside the house. That sultry sound was unmistakably the beckon of the most important woman in his life. Actually second most important. The first was Mary Winchester, or otherwise known as her terrifyingly awesome mother. Unfortunately, he had to separate his date with Ms. Hourglass because he was already feeling guilty for betraying his beloved Chevy Impala. His dad still owned her though. to Dean's disappointment.

His Dad appeared from the door, his tie skewed, his hair hit by a tornado, a stubble staining his chin, and fashionable panda circles around his eyes. He looked like life hit him with a baseball bat. 

“Dad, you all right? A trucker hit you or something?” Dean said.

“No, I’m fine,” he sighed, his voice hoarser than sandpaper. “Just had a bad night at the office.”

“You slept there? That’s why you didn’t come home yesterday?” Sam asked, concerned.

He weakly nodded. “Sammy, never sleep on your work desk if you don’t want to wake up wanting to snap your neck, all right?” He slid off from his leather shoes before he shambled to the stairs. If mom was here, she would complaining her husband was littering good footwear in the living room. “I’m going to nosedive into bed. Uh, where’s your mother?”

“She went out to buy groceries.” 

There was a weird sorrowful expression on Dad’s eyes before he slipped away to his room. At that moment it sealed the deal that Dean will never become a police officer like his Dad, unless if Dean wanted exhaustion injected into him regularly.

Dean saw Sam putting his magazine and some books into his backpack. “You going somewhere?” Dean asked. Fifteen minutes left.

“Yeah, I’m meeting Castiel at the library today. We have to brainstorm for our Chemistry project.”

A tic suddenly pounded on Dean’s temple as soon as he heard that name. His mood became sour. Dean unconsciously rubbed that part of his body that was still reeling from phantom pains.

“So, it’s not that painful anymore?” Sam said, puppy eyes while looking at Dean’s rubbing hand.

“Still feels like needles pricking on it, but chicks dig men with scars, s’okay.”

Dean helplessly remembered what happened two days ago. Someone put radioactive stench in Castiel’s locker, and when he saw Dean, he immediately punched Dean into another dimension of the Twilight Zone. Dean heard Castiel saying Dean was the root of all evil, but he could not protest because everything blacked out. When he woke up, he just remembered he was lying in bed at the nurse’s office, with Sammy and Benny staring at him as if he was just about to get surgery. 

“Dean, are you alive? How many fingers am I showing?” Sam said.

“Three, and a pencil,” Dean said and was surprised how much of a struggle it was to breathe air. There was a creeping tremor of pain radiating in his abdomen that made Dean curl into a fetus. “What the fuck, it hurts like hell!”

“Yeah, Mr. Rain Man just gutted you in the stomach. Didn’t know he could deliver a blow like that,” Benny said.

“Castiel might have mentioned he practices karate,” Sam said.

Dean groaned. “Oh, and you just mention it right after he got all fucking Mr. Miyagi on me?” 

“I didn’t think it was relevant, until you know…” Sam laughed.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“Man, Dean, it’s the first time I’ve seen you passed out in school, and it’s because of someone you always call a nerd. That’s funny.”

Dean glared. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Benny just chuckled, which Dean didn’t spare from a round of malicious glaring, but Benny just chuckled even more. He offered the siblings a ride home with his car. It was embarrassing being draped around Benny’s shoulder like he was an injured World War II private, but Sam reminded him it was either that or being carried around like a princess. Benny propped Dean in the backseat, but that did not stop Dean from complaining.

“So why did Castiel punch you? He doesn’t really look like the guy who would do that?” Benny asked while driving.

“Yeah, he told me he knows martial arts,” Sam added. “But he also told me he had never demonstrated his inner Bruce Lee outside a studio. Did you try to put cyanide on his baked lasagna, Dean?”

“What? I didn’t do anything,” Dean screeched. “He thought I was the one playing pranks on him. I’m not!”

Sam just had a face which totally said there were pigs sliding over rainbows and Uwe Boll won Academy Award’s Best Director.

“I didn’t do it!”

“If you’re not the one, who did? You didn’t exactly start off very nicely. Castiel looked so sad the other day walking around the halls covered in flour.”

“How the hell should I know?” Deep down though, Dean had the feeling he knew the culprit, but he didn’t have the evidence to back it up.

Sam sighed and stopped prodding questions from Dean. When they got home, Dean dropped faster than a brick to his bed, wallowing in pain. When Dean lifted his shirt, he saw some bruising there, the color of mild grape jelly fingerpainted on his skin. Sam was shocked when he saw it and he rushed to get some medicine from the bathroom. That Castiel knew how to punch like a pro. Dean had to at least give Castiel a credit for that.

To Dean’s luck, his mother didn’t notice he would sometimes wince when sitting. Dean just continued with his business washing the dishes or doing the punishment chores.

But that was two days ago. Right now, it didn’t hurt much anymore. Though, Dean had to say thank God it he was knocked out on a Friday so that the aftermath would be away from the gossipy students. So there was a proverbial truth to that godawful Katy Perry song after all.

Their Dad suddenly appeared, rubbing his overgrown scruff. He was angling for the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Dean looked at the clock. And there it was. It was time—he was free from his invisible shackles of the dreaded grounded status. Freedom! “Fuck yeah! I’m officially a free man!” Dean exclaimed. “Dad, why don’t I celebrate by giving me your car keys. I need some bonding time with pie!”

“Huh? Yeah, whatever,” he yawned.

“Awesome!” Dean scooted away from the coach and got the keys from the table.

“Dean, drop me off at the library,” Sam said.

“’Kay,” Dean was already twirling the keys with his index finger. “Don’t stall by putting make up on, Sammy.”

“It’s _Sam_ , Dean. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a bit taller than you now,” Sam pouted.

“Don’t be proud of being a freakazoid. And it’s either _Sammy_ or _Samantha_. Take your pick.”

Sam sighed. “Let’s just go. And you better treat me with a burger. Or else I’m telling Mom the magic tricks you are doing in the bathroom.”

“Huh, where’d you learn to deal like that?”

“From my stupid brother, of course, jerk.”

Dean gave Sam a thorough noogie on his head, much to Sam’s displeasure and whines, then Dean kicked Sam’s ass into the Impala. As soon as Dean dropped Sam from the library, he rushed to Biggerson’s to finally savor that ambrosia made of artificially processed flavors and served on Styrofoam plate. Biggerson’s and their pie bar (it’s like a salad bar, but with pie!) always completed him. He also went to Bobby’s Garage and told the lovable crotchety old guy that the time was up and he could finally get back to his passion on dismantling cars from rich douchebags. 

“Good to see ya kickin’, kid,” Bobby acknowledged Dean with a firm pat on the back. “But no work today. Will ring for you.”

The next day, Dean was chilling with Benny in the school halls when Mrs. Cooks suddenly appeared like a troll under a bridge. Her lips were more wrinkled than her face when she said Principal Roman was asking for him. No doubt she had heard of the ‘bad student conduct’ that transpired last week.

“Time to meet your executioner, Dean,” Benny said, because nobody in the football team was exactly butterflies and teaparties with Principal Dick Roman. Heck, his first name was already a dead giveaway. 

“I’ll taze him, bro, if it gets shady,” Dean said. Mrs. Cooks gasped what she heard but Dean just shrugged.

The office was already too familiar with Dean; everything was the same, to that furnished varnished large desk, to those bookshelves that had more pictures of the dick posing with various muguls during his stint as the CEO of the Richard-Roman Enterprises, even to that Newton’s cradle that always made Dean’s teeth grit, matching to that tick-tacking sound. What he was not familiar with were the new decorations sitting on opposite chairs. The straightjacket-worthy Gordon Walker, and Mr. Rain Man himself looking for extraterrestrial life outside the window. In that instant, he knew his guts were right—it was that Gordon that was the cause of it all. 

“Ah, Dean, please sit. I believe this is already your eight time in my office. What do you think of my new trophy cabinet, looks nice, eh?” Principal Roman smiled, the kind of smile a mafia loanshark would flash when he was ready to slice off a finger. 

Dean tentatively seated himself next to Castiel who stared at him at the whole movement. Dean stared back, and there was something inexplicable in Castiel’s eyes, like he had something to say but it had to be said after this ‘talk’ with the principal.

“Uh, I think so? But kinda empty,” Dean answered.

Principal Roman rubbed his chin and nodded. “Well, boys, let’s not waste precious time, shall we? Mr. Walker, do you have something to say?” Walker’s mouth was clamped shut. “No? Then perhaps Mr. Novak here?”

“Yes,” Castiel cleared his throat. “Becky and Kevin informed me that it had been Gordon Walker who doused me with flour, put that artificial digestive gas balloon on my chair, and modified my locker with those odor contraptions.”

So Dean was definitely right: it was this prick. Dean also noticed Gordon was committing murder while glaring at Castiel. 

“You have anything to say about this, Mr. Walker?” 

Gordon sniggered. “Well, at least it was fucking funny, right, Dean? You laughed your ass off at the cafeteria.”

Dean grimaced. While it was true he did it find it funny the first time, but it got old and had gotten uncomfortable. For some reason he didn’t find it ‘fucking funny’ anymore pulling a prank on Castiel. Dean threw ninja stars at Gordon with his eyes and subliminally sent the message ‘lay off me, you ass.’ Clearly Gordon got the message because he was sending the same glare at Dean.

“Hmn,” Principal Roman tapped his cheek with a finger. “Well, guilty as charged. Dean, Mr. Novak, you may go. And I hope I won’t see you again in this office, Mr. Novak, unless it’s for commendations. How is your club?”

“We’re preparing for the elimination rounds,” Castiel replied.

“You’ll win. I’ll hold that as promise. How about the Lawrence High Wolves, Dean? Progress?”

“Uh, yeah, we’re doing fine and dandy. We’ll get that championship trophy.”

Principal Roman suddenly guffawed then stared straight at Dean. “Our school’s football team has not won anything in ten years. What are you, some miracle paradropped by God? You should copy the example of Alistair and the baseball team. They’ve won championship numerous times.”

Oh-fucking-Chuck, Dean didn’t want to kill someone until he met this mountain of dicks. And he had the fucking gall to mention John Wayne Gacy’s clone to Dean’s face. Was it all right to strangle a principal? He was seriously contemplating about it.

“Everything is about winning, Dean. Lawrence High has no need for losers,” Principal Roman said with a crazed determination on his shifty eyes. “Please leave. Mister Walker and I will have a nice talk.”

Dean got out of that office faster than the Flash can win a triathlon. Dean, frowning, rushed to his class but heard Castiel calling his name a few times. He scrounged for air in his lungs and turned back. “You have something to say, or are you going to gut me again?”

Castiel couldn’t look Dean straight at the eye. He was much more interested on the poem etched on the thrashcan that said ‘No vags for fags.’ When he finally looked at Dean, there was a painful earnestness on his face. “Yes, I have to make peace with you,” he started slowly. “While you were an annoyance when we initially meet, and you look at me like some child that needs to be rebuffed for no clear reason, and you did threaten to blackm—“

“Gee, Cas, are you trying to make peace or trying to tear me a new piece of hole?”

“As I was saying, while our initial meeting was problematic, I should have not thought of you as the instigator of those childish pranks and I should have not hurt you.” Then he breathed, “I regret it very much. I am sorry.”

Dean had in his mind not to even pay attention to this dude, because that punch did really motherfucking hurt (and the bruise was still healing) and he didn’t want to be reminded that the person he thought was a pipsqueak could effortlessly bash Dean’s head on the pavement if he wanted to. Man, this world was fucking unfair. There were actually nerds that could give Chuck Norris a run for his money. But there was something wholly honest in those blue eyes of his that told Dean the apology was sincere. So Dean helpleslessly relented. Also, he had a sudden grander scheme forming in his mind.

“You are forgiven,” Dean noticed that the uneasiness radiating from Castiel started to wear off as soon as he said those words. “However, you are not off the hook just yet.” 

Castiel bristled. “I hope you will not continue with the blackmail?”

“Hmn,” Dean dramatically huffed. “Nah, learned to eat my wheaties. Some nerds in trenchcoats are actually hidden badasses. Captain Jack Harkness taught me that. Let’s have another arrangement.”

“What do you mean?”

“How about this: You help me with Anna, and I help you with Sam? Peachy perfect, right? No losers just winners.”

Castiel frowned. “However, there seems to be a disadvantage on my end of the bargain.” He paused for a bit.”While I believe Anna might show interest in you, although I surmise that is highly unlikely”—Dean rolled his eyes, Castiel noticed that—“but Sam, I do not think he is capable of…”

“That Sam might not like hotdogs but will prefer donuts?”

Confusion knitted Castiel’s eyebrows. “That is quite outlandish from my point.”

“No, I mean, that Sam might not like you _like you_ , because he may not be interested in guys the way you are interested in guys?”

“Too many repetitive words, but yes.”

Dean clucked his tongue. “Well, how would you know? How many days have you been dreaming of Sam?”

“Long enough, perhaps."

“And that is enough for you to say that Sam might not start dreaming of you back?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said as he rubbed his nape with a palm. Hesitance was wavering his voice.

For some reason while looking at Castiel, Dean was reminded of one of those blue-eyed puppies on Youtube. “I’ve never heard of Sam saying he wetdreams for boys or girls or both yet. Heck, he might surprise us one day by bringing a pet rock to the prom.”

Castiel did not reply, but just kept rubbing his nape.

“Tell you what, if you’re too chicken about it, then you get nothing. If you grab your balls and actually do it, you might get something. So it’s up to you.”

Castiel sighed deeply. Buddha would be green of jealousy if he saw Castiel’s moment of deep contemplation as he stared at the floor. Finally, he answered, “All right. I accept the terms.”

There was a toothy grin on Dean’s face. “Hooray. Now let’s shake hands to seal the devil’s deal,” Dean extended his hand. Castiel looked at it as if there was a hidden joy buzzer before he accepted it. This time, Dean could not feel his arteries popping from Castiel’s grip but it was still quite strong, though contradictorily Castiel’s palm felt smooth. Dean would have expected at least a callus or two.

“I do have a query,” Cas said. “Why are you comfortable with the situation? Are you not repulsed of Sam having interest of the same sex?”

“Whatever floats my annoying brother’s boat,” Dean shrugged. “Just as long as it isn’t me. Nope, I’ll bury myself in tar before I decide to hunt dicks. Yep, I love ladies like how I love my pie. Cherry, apple, and custard. Though Dr. Sexy is my mancrush.”

Castiel tilted his head before he carefully nodded. Dean was already taking note that when Castiel did that he meant he did not understand the crap Dean was saying.

“So our first homework for Operation: I’ll Woo Your Sibling is to buy something that they would like. Want to go shopping with me, Regina George?”

“That is not my name, Dean. And my surname is Novak.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Cas, let’s go to the mall and buy stuff.”

“Oh,” he said, a lightbulb dropping on his head. “That is fine, but I cannot today because of club duties. Perhaps this Wednesday?”

“Perfect. I have to kick Benny’s ass in the field today too. So see ya’, Cas?”

“Indeed,” he said as he took a tentative step then started walking away. When he turned his head for a moment, Dean waved a hand at him. Castiel replied with a slow handwave as he continued walking.

So Dean did kick Benny’s ass during practice that afternoon. He made a satisfying touchdown that earned him million pats on his back from his team. He really did feel he was back into his game since the thought of Castiel grousing around the school halls like a white ghost did not plague Dean’s mind anymore. Coach Moseley noticed his performance and gave Dean a thumbs up. She also reminded Dean about that gardening job, and Dean vigorously nodded his head. He needed the bucks real bad to pay for the paintjob on Alistair’s dick on wheels. 

“I’ll contact you when my nephew calls,” she said.

On Wednesday, after school hours and with no football practice, Dean waited in the parking lot for Castiel. The guy appeared with his backpack all lumpy as if he just hoarded gold ores. He was still wearing that ugly ass trenchcoat.

“Seriously, dude,” Dean asked. “Do you wash that thing?”

Castiel looked at his coat. “Yes, it is washed. Why?”

“So what, as soon as you wear it you wash it after?”

Castiel titled his head. “I have seven of this, Dean.”

Dean whistled in amazement, and because he didn’t know what to say about that. Leading Castiel to his baby (or soon to be his), the Impala, Dean noticed Castiel was eyeing with curiosity. 

“This is a nice car.”

Pride was filling Dean’s bladder. And yes, he needed to pee. “I’m liking you already, Cas.”

He went straight to the restroom after parking the car outside the mall. While he was walking with Castiel, he noticed the guy was looking more lost than hitchhiking tourist in China. He looked at the mannequins like they were going to become plastic zombies any time soon.

“This is my first time here,” Castiel nonchalantly said. “It is, um, noisy.”

“First time in this mall?” Dean asked, because it would be impossible for a guy not to have gone into a mall in his lifetime. Heck, even if Obama was busy pencilpushing his poor politicians he still had time to go to a mall.

“No. This is my first time in a mall.”

Okay, so Castiel was no Obama then. “So what hole have you been living in ?”

“I live in a house, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “So you don’t get out the house to breath fresh air?”

Castiel looked at the random shopper that was rubbing the bubblegum off her kid’s hair then at Dean. “No, I don’t.”

“What about school?”

“I was homeschooled until we moved to Kansas.”

Oh, that explained why this dude was always like a lost fallen angel among the swimming number of confusing multi-colored humans.

They found themselves standing in front of a record store. Dean tugged Castiel’s coat in attention and dragged him inside. They passed through a labyrinth of shelves, attendants, and girls screeching at the sight of Justin Bieber’s new album.

“Dude, I think they have it here,” Dean said, shuffling some labels on the shelf. “Kansas! Best band on Earth. I have all of their albums in tapes.”

Castiel scrutinized the record with that characteristic tilt of his head.

“So what music does Anna like?” 

Castiel looked at the rack of CDs as if he was trying to remember something. “She listens to music like Cœur de Pirate and Christina Stürmer.”

Dean blinked. Castiel might have said that in perfect French and German but it was all Daffy Duck talk to Dean’s ears. “Ker de what and Christina what?”

“The former is a French girl rock band while the latter is an Austrian rock singer.”

“Excuse my French, but Anna can speak French and German?” Dean gasped. Oh, like that wasn’t a dead giveaway of his language kink.

Castiel shook his head. “She just has a preference for foreign rock songs. She said the more they sing with lyrics sounding like words in a drunken stupor, the more she finds them appealing.’”

Dean was a bit disappointed. Oh well, at least Anna was still a nice girl with a nice smile. And a nice ass. A nice ass could never be wrong.

“I don’t think I can find those singers here. I think I’ll download them.” He looked at Castiel. “So what about you? What music gives you a hard on?”

Castiel mulled for a few seconds. “I like Rebecca Black’s _Friday_.”

“Seriously, dude?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Yes. It is a song with many deceptive layers. When she sings the line ‘gotta’ have my bowl, gotta’ have cereal,’ it is a reference to modern consumerism and how humans have become helplessly dependent to these comforts.”

Dean just stared at Castiel with his jaw open for eternity. “What the hell? Where did you listen to that shit?”

Castiel’s brow was creased. “I heard the song upon my brother’s recommendation. Why?”

“Nevermind,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Let’s go find what Sam will like,” Dean said, dragging Castiel to another aisle of records. While they passing through, some people were giving Castiel a stink eye, like Castiel was some creepy mall flasher, or a flashmob dancer with two left feet. It didn’t help Castiel was wearing his favorite hideous coat. Still, for some reason, Dean didn’t like how people were staring at the clueless guy, so Dean gave all of these creeps the same stinkeye. 

“Here it is,” Dean pointed out.

Castiel inspected the record as he touched it. “ _Les Misérables_. So Sam listens to songs like these?”

“Guy is a total girl, seriously. He cries whenever he hears it. Don’t make me even start on _The Sound of Music_ or _My Fair Lady_.”

Cas looked at Dean then nodded, his face all military serious. “I see. I shall purchase it then. I hope Sam will like it as a gift.”

“So have you been chopping blocking boards all your life? You gut punched me like you’re from the MMA,” Dean casually said that, but he noticed there was a flash of guilty and hurt brewing on Castiel’s eyes. He wanted to take it back but it was already wafting in the air.

“I have been practicing karate for ten years now. My siblings also partake in the same martial arts,” Castiel softly answered followed by an awkward pause. “I am truly sorry, Dean. I still regret it for hurting you.”

That alone was a clear indication of Castiel’s sincerity for forgiveness. So Dean carefully touched Castiel’s stiff shoulder. Castiel stared at Dean, and for some reason there was a tiny voice inside Dean’s head that told him he had to hold Castiel’s gaze. “Don’t worry about it, dude. Let bygones be bygones, right?”

Castiel nodded then observed those preteen girls salivating on that attendant with emo hair.

“So Anna can also karate? Man, remind me to always answer no if she asks me if she’s fat.”

“She is a fast learner. She once injured this boy for tugging her hair. The boy was sent to the hospital for a broken spinal cord.”

“Dude, are you kidding me?”

“I am not kidding you,” his face was dead serious.

“Right. Not touching her hair then. I like my spleen very much,” Dean said as he led Castiel to the register to pay for the sappy musical songs.

The rest of the afternoon they walked around, checking some shops, which every single one of them Castiel observed with great gusto. When Dean tried to suggest some other clothes for Castiel to wear, he politely declined and just said “I am comfortable with what I am wearing.” That sounded final so Dean just kept quiet because he didn’t want to pester the dude even though he still stuck out like a sore thumb.

When Dean got home, he wikied the hell everything about those bands. And Castiel was right; it was written in a language only drunks could understand. Or Dean had to learn German and French, but he was too much of a lazyass to do that.

Anna did not appear to their table though for a few days. Dean wondered what was wrong. Did she find him boring now? No, he couldn’t be. He was never boring to chicks. It had to be Benny’ fault.

“Dude, your body odor is driving Anna away. Where is she?”

Benny laughed. “Relax, Deanie Weanie. I saw her hanging out with some girls, probably the cheerleaders. She hasn’t forgotten your perky nipples.”

Dean stared at his appetizing burger to pass the time. It was so appetizing that he thought he saw black goo ooze between the buns. Well, Dean was a human trash compactor and it was probably just some unique sauce. Dean took a big bite. It was strange though no one from the team was agonizing him about Castiel’s direct falcon punch to Dean’s liver. He suspected Football Captain Benny Lafitte was the reason for that.

“Dean,” Anna suddenly appeared behind his back. She squeezed herself between Dean and Benny. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve heard what Castiel did to you. I’m really sorry,” there was pure concern on her silver eyes that Dean was drowning in them. Dean was too flustered to speak, so she added, “I told him not to do that again. It’s the first time I’ve heard of him attacking someone. He’s the Gandhi of our family. I don’t know what had gotten to him.”

“Nah, don’t worry. Me and him, we already smoothed that over.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” Dean nodded.

“Thank you,” Anna breathed in relief. She looked at Dean and Dean stared back while balancing a spoonful of pudding in midair.

“That will fall and it will be a bitch to clean, Dean,” Benny smirked.

Damn it, Pirate Cockblocker had resumed to his cockblocking ways again.

Anna just chuckled. She looked particularly more beautiful today. She was wearing some cute, feminine dress that really accentuated her ‘assets’. In fact, Benny noticed and stole some quick glances, but of course since he was the typical besotted, whipped boyfriend, he scanned for pictures of his dear Andrea on his smartphone, and then attacked his spaghetti like it was the absolution for his sin.

Now, it was show time.

Dean plugged his earphones to his phone then scanned for those strategic songs. He didn’t understand the crap what he was hearing but he drummed the air as if he was Lars Ulrich on crack. Benny, obviously knowing what Dean was up to but just shook his head. Thank god Mr. Cockblocker did not do his part-time job of cockblocking.

“Dean, what are you listening to?” Anna asked, intrigued.

“I’m listening to this new rock band I heard onYoutube. Cœur de Pirate. It’s girl power galore.”

“Really?” Anna asked in surprise. There was a wide smile growing on her face. “Let me hear,” she scooted nearer to Dean, her arm brushing on Dean’s biceps as she took an earphone. “This sounds like _Adieu_. I love this song.”

“I like it. The more the lyrics sound like some drunks wrote this before AA, the more they sound catchier.”

Anna’s smile grew wider. “Wow, we must have conjoined brains because I think so too.”

“That sounds creepy, but I wouldn’t mind my head pressed on yours,” Dean winked. Anna rolled her eyes though her smile didn’t fade away.

“I wonder if the record store has some of their albums.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of going there too. They better have their albums or else I’m committing arson. But I’m still new to this girl power thing,” Dean looked at Anna. “Maybe you could show me the ropes?”

“I’m on to you, Winchester,” she playfully crossed her arms. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Okay, you got me. But you can’t blame a guy for asking out a pretty girl, right?” Dean pleaded with that Winchester smile. And Anna was completely falling for it. Dean had to give a medal to his Dad someday for passing onto him Winchester genes.

“Well certainly I can’t blame you for that. Date’s on, Winchester,” she said, excitement tingeing her voice.

They exchanged numbers before Anna waved goodbye to meet her other friends at the library. Again, Dean could not stop staring at Anna’s backside even if an anvil was dropped on his head. 

“Pretty smooth there, Fabio,” Benny said as Anna disappeared into the sea of hungry teenagers.

“Shut up, Pirate Cockblock,” Dean elbowed Benny.

When the bell rang, the students were already starting to pour out from the cafeteria. Dean told Benny to go ahead without him. As soon Benny left, Dean rushed to the bathroom and knocked on a stall. Castiel stood up from the toilet seat with his hands clinging to the strap of his backpack. There was a stray toilet paper that stuck to his shoe, which Dean pointed out but Castiel didn’t know what to do with it but just stare, so Dean had to skid it away with his own shoe.

“Good news, it worked! We’re gonna hit the town.”

“Congratulations, Dean,” Castiel said, a soft smile on his face. “I am still horrified of your dating habits but please take care of my sister.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I will return her to you before midnight, _Sir Novak_. So what about you, did you give those girly music to Sammy? I can already imagine him crying listening to it.”

Castiel looked at the floor for a brief moment then gave Dean that heavy stare. There was really unsettling with the dude’s stare, it was like how Dean would inspect with precision the cars at Bobby’s Garage. “I think I will give this to Sam on a timely day. We are currently preoccupied with our Chemistry project.”

“Oh well. Your call, dude.” Dean’s phone was ringing. It was Benny asking where in the school was Dean attacked by wandering tigers. “Okay, gotta’ split or else Ms. Cooks will go Darth Vader on my ass again. So see ya’, Cas?”

Castiel nodded.

When Dean was already at the door, Castiel called his name, a faint frown on his face. There was something in his blue eyes, something like splinters of doubt. “Dean, I still do not know if I can trust you.”

“That’s okay, Cas,” Dean drummed his fingers on the wood. “But I have a feeling we’ll be best buds soon,” he said, exiting the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veeery late update. Sorry for that. I'm a really slow typer and I have so much stuff going on. But here it is! I am not satisfied on some parts and there are still so many grammar mistakes, so expect some changes here and then. Don't worry, nothing major.


End file.
